The minutes slide by, and inevitably I drift to my friends. Callidus, Eidhin, Aequa. Emissa. Theyweremy friends, despite everything. A strange feeling, to know they must consider me dead. To know they will have searched and grieved and are probably now moving on with their lives in Caten. I imagine what they’re doing right now. I wish I could have been honest with them.
The gentlest of breezes stirs the murky darkness. I peer into it absently, sweeping back brown hair that is longer than it has ever been. Caten is still out there, somewhere, but it must be so far away as to not matter. There are no maps here, no books, but no one I have talked to has heard even a hint of the Hierarchy.
The world, it seems, is a far bigger place than I ever realised.
Eventually I shift, switch my guarding to the opposite side of the crannog, though it matters little in the fog. My arm is bare beneath my cloak and I rotate it absently, spinning my spear in an exercise I’ve found works the muscles there thoroughly. I’ve started to adapt to the chill here, but I can’t rub my arms to warm myself the way I once would have. Such a minor thing. Sometimes those manage to feel like the most frustrating lacks.
I’m still in motion when the pulse registers.
I stop working out my arm and slowly bring the butt of my spear back to the ground. It’s faint, but it’s there again. That sense. Not light or sound but something itching at my mind, out on the far shore, hidden by fog.
It’s been more than a month since I last felt it. Just enough time for me to begin wondering, once again, if it had been my imagination.
I focus for a minute, then pad across the bridges to the torchlit causeway and start along it, trying to appear casual, though I’m fairly certain the fog will hide me from all but the closest observers. The sensation in my head doesn’t move. Wood creaks underfoot. White shrouds everything.
I hit the shore. Still silence. I ghost to the tree line and then start edging along the shore, eyes straining ahead. It’s almost impossible to see, but I can’t risk light.
The pulse in my head is getting nearer when the tail end of a conversation, low and hurried and muffled by the encroaching haze, touches my ears.
“… cannot delay.” A male voice. Insistent.
“We do not even know how many they are.” Another man, growling a response. “We should watch a while longer.”
“It will not matter. Not to Gallchobhar.” A woman this time. She sounds exasperated. “What we have is enough. If we stay until it is clear enough to see more, we risk being discovered.”
A pause. I hold my breath.
“Fine.” The second man again, I think, though the fog warps everything in such a way that I can’t be sure. There’s the faint scuffing of footsteps. Quickly fading.
Vek. Gallchobhar. The man I was manipulated, I strongly suspect, into getting exiled. And whoever’s reporting to him, they’re trying to stay hidden. There was at least three of them, and no knowing if everyone present spoke. Even with surprise on my side, I’m in no position to stop them from leaving.
The pulse is still there. Not that much farther around the lake. But this is the reason I was set to keep watch, and that comes before anything else.
I sprint back to the crannog. Before I reach it, the odd sensation in my head fades to nothing. I press on.
“Everyone up.” I hiss the words as I enter the older students’ sleeping quarters. Even with the fog, voices carry across the water. “Someone was here.”
The others are on their feet within seconds, throwing cloaks on, snatching up their spears. Alert. “How many?” asks Tara.
“At least three.”
“At least?”
“The fog was too thick. I couldn’t see them. But from what I heard, they know we are here and they are leaving to tell Gallchobhar.”
A heartbeat of deliberation at the name of King Rónán’s disgraced Champion. “Then we must catch them,” pronounces Conor grimly.
“Fearghus, rouse Pádraig and let him know, then catch up.” Tara’s already moving to the door, clearly in agreement with Conor. “Leathf hear, show us exactly where they were. It rained yesterday, and the ground is soft. It should be easy to find their tracks.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Pádraig?”
“Pádraig will stay back to ensure the safety of the younger ones, and send us to kill them.” Tara’s confidence is unshakeable.
“Kill?” I know this is what we’ve been training for, but still. “Shouldn’t we take prisoners? Find out what’s going on?”
“If we can.” She sees my hesitation. “If it is Gallchobhar and he has men, then he is undoubtedly working with Fiachra now. They will be skilled, perhaps outnumber us and will not surrender. And if any escape, they will return with reinforcements. Many more will die. Us, them. Both. This is the path to saving lives.”
I grimace, but there’s no arguing the point; I nod and follow her and the others without protest. We flit along the causeway, silent, rushlights in everyone’s off-hands except mine, as Fearghus splits off toward where Pádraig sleeps. There’s excitement on the faces around me. Determination. But no fear.
